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nificence which surrounded him; the walls and floors of

FIRST VOICE. every room were curiously inlaid with gold and silver ; The home of my childhood, how brightly it shines there were pearls as large as walnuts, and diamonds the 'Mid the dreary darkling past ! size of eggs, and red gold in bars, and such a profusion There the sunlight of memory never declines, of wealth and of objects of inconceivable beauty as the Still green is its valley,—still green are its vines. peasant's son had never dreamt of, even when he lay on What charms hath unemory cast the banks of the lake, and gazed upwards on the deep

Around thy father's cot? blue heavens towards the dwellings of the angels. In

SECOND VOICE. the gardens which surrounded this enchanted palace

Oh the home of my childhood was wild and rude grew fruits and flowers lovelier far than he had ever be

In the depth of an Alpine solitude ; held; the apples were as large as a child's head, and the

But dearer to me and fairer far plums the size of ostrich eggs, and the cherries like bil. Its rocks and dells and streamlets are, liard balls, and the flowers of marvellously varied forms Than the thousand vales of the noble Rhine ! and beauty ; sweet birds filled the air with their merry Hast thou so dear a home? warblings,-the little streamlets seemed to murmur

THIRD VOICE. music as they meandered through the emerald meads, and the zephyrs which played amid his hyacinthine

Far, far away, in the twilight grey, locks, were more odorous than those of Araby, or the

My spirit loves to roa m,

To one sweet spot, oh ne'er forgot ! Spicy islands of the East.

My childhood's home. “ The boy had often read of Paradise, and now he thought : This is surely Paradise ; and I am happy

FOURTH VOICE. here!'

The eagle lent me his wing of pride, “ Weeks and months passed thus away, and still the

And away with him I Hew, youthful stranger remained unconscious of their flight; O'er many a land and ocean wide, for a perpetual succession of new objects occupied his

To a vale my childhood knew. attention; and while roaming beneath the orange-trees with their golden fruit, he never thought of the broad

“ When the fourth voice had died softly away in the cak which stretched its sheltering arms above his father's distance, the boy-whose young heart now heaved till it hut.

was like to burst with wild and uncontrollable longings “But at last, when nearly a whole year was gone, the to return to his father's home-heard the rush of heavy mortal inhabitant of this enchanted region was suddenly wings passing near him, and looking up he beheld á

seized with an irrepressible longing to return to his na. beautiful snow-white eagle, with a golden crown upon tive village.

Nothing pleased him now,—nothing any its head, and a collar of rubies, alight near to him on longer gratified his boyish fancy,—the flowers had lost the meadow. The noble bird looked with a friendly eye their beauty to his pensive eye,—the melody of the upon him, and he heard another voice singing faintly streams, and the songs of the birds fell tunele:s on his and far off, these words : listless ear,—the sky above him appeared far less beau. tiful than that on whose reflected hues he had so often

The eagle is a bird of truth,

And bis wing is swift and strong. gazed as he lay on the banks of the deep lake,-but when he thought of the words of the beautiful maidens, “ The boy, moved by a strong and momentary imwho had assured him that return to the light of another pulse, sprung to his feet and ran towards the noble bird, world was impossible after the third day's sojourning in which bent its crowned head and stretched out its long this enchanted region, he hid his secret sorrow in his in- wings as if to salute him on his approach ; but he now

most soul, and only gave vent to his grief when he discovered that the eagle's strong talons were fixed in a thought the thick shades of the garden concealed him swan, which lay beneath him, and which he knew to be from observation. Much he strove, when the three kind one of those which he had seen swimming on the lake sisters approached him, to appear happy and cheerful as near Wimpfen. Then the manly boy seized a branch of formerly, but he could not conceal the grief which was a tree, and with it drove away the cruel eagle from the preying within ; and when they kindlý inquired what swan. No sooner had he performed this grateful acailed him, he tried to account for his altered appearance tion, than he suddenly heheld the three lovely sisters and demeanour by various excuses and pretences of bad from whom he had just been longing to make his escape,

standing before him, and smiling so sweetly and mildly “One day as he lay in the light of the setting sun, upon him, that he felt ashamed of his wish to leave upon the green banks of a limpid stream, though all na- them secretly, and hung down his head blushing deeply. ture around him appeared charming, rich, and luxuri- “ Then one of them spoke : 'We know thy thoughts,

ous, and the air was filled with fragrance, and the birds dear youth, and what it is that moves thee so deeply sang their evening-song, and on the meadow before him And though we are sorry to part with thee, yet as thou were some cheerful labourers, singing cheerfully while hast proved thyself so faithful towards us, thy secret de. at work, he felt that all this beauty and melody wanted sire shall be granted, and to-morrow thou shalt behold something without which they could minister no happi- thy father, and mother, and brethren, and sisters.' ness to his longing soul. His father's hut suddenly “ The poor boy stood mute before his kind benefac. fose in lively colours before his fancy; he saw his be- tresses ; he wept because he was about to part with loved mother weeping bitterly at the door, and he knew them, and he also wept when he thought how long he

that it was for him she wept; and he beheld all his long- had tarried away from his home; all night he tossed forgotien companions with their familiar faces standing about

on a restless couch, unable to resolve on departing, around his mother, and heard them calling his name and equally unable to reject the offer which had been aloud as if in sorrow : and then the poor boy sobbed made to him by his kind and

lovely friends. At last aloud and wept bitterly with his face hid in the tall sleep sank down on his weary eyelids, and when he

grass. As he lay in this posture he heard a clear voice awoke the following morning, he found himself lying singing in the distance, and as he listened the sounds on the shore of the well-known lake. He looked upon *axed more audible, and

seemed to float nearer him the waters and beheld the three swans sailing at a licle through the still air. Again they died away

in the dis- distance from him ; but

when he stretched his hands tocance, and again they approached towards him, until he wards them, as if to say that he wished again to join distinctly heard the following words sung apparently by them, they beckoned in a friendly manner to him, and different and separated voices :

then diving beneath the surface, re-appeared not again.

health.

“ All was pleasure and astonishment when the long-friends are in the midst of the happiness which the dislost boy again presented himself in his native village. covery occasions, when Augustin, a hermit, comes to His friends and companions assembled around him and inform the unfortunate father and mother that their son, heard his wonderful story; but none believed it. Fritz, who had gone upon a visit to his grandfather, had

“ But after the first greetings were over, and his first fallen down one of the clefts of the rocks, and had been transports of joy on finding himself again restored to his killed. It is to Werner that Augustin first communi. parents and youthful companions had subsided, the boy cates these tidings ; and, as the scene in which he does was scized with a secret longing to return to the un- so appears to us the best written in the poem, we shall known land; and this desire grew more vehement every extract the greater part of it, as the fairest specimen we day. He would now wander about the shores of the can select : lake from sunrise till the stars appeared in the nightly

Augustin-walks in with deep seriousness, dignity, heavens; but the three swans never returned, and the

and feeling. He makes the sign of the crosspoor boy wept and sighed in vain for those Elysian fields in which it had once been permitted him to wander. Praised be Jesus Christ !

WERNER.-EternallyHis cheeks now grew pale as the withered rose, his eye

(Gives him his hand.) became dim and languid, his bounding limbs grew more

How art thou, father? Thou art paler than feeble every day, and all joy left his bosom. One even.

Is usual, and thou tremblest! ing he had drag zed himself with much difficulty to the AUGUSTIX.-It is age shore of the lake,—the evening sun threw its last ra. For I am near the grave. But 'tis not fear. diance on the waters,--and he heard a sweet silver-like Werner, I fear not death-I love him much. voice, which seemed to rise from the blue depth beneath 'Tis but my soul, which tremblingly shakes off him, singing these verses :

The dust of earth from her immortal wings.

WERNER. —Think not so often of thy death, oh fatherThou who hast roam'd through

Death will come soon enough: true, thou art old;
The bright world below,

But winter blooms beneath thy locks of snow.
What joy can thy bosom

Augustin. - Think seriously, steward. Look beneath,
On earth ever know?

With eyes attentive, on the holy deep ;.

Roots strike below, and weeds are on the surface :
Dost thou dread the blue wave ?

Accustom thou thyself to see in darkness
Thou hast tried it before,

Light; look thou in the cave till thou discover
One plunge in its bosom

The shining portal of eternal life.
Thy sorrows are o'er !

For birth is but the door of vanities;
“ The voice had died away in the distance, but the The key of life is faith-the gate the grave.

There dost thou err in vain, thy passions' slave boy now stood close on the margin of the lake, gazing WERNER.-I am not godless. intently upon it, as if his eye sought to measure its pro- AUGUSTIN.—No, I say not that ; found depth. He turned round and cast one look upon Thou'rt good, but yet I fear too worldly, Werner, his father's cot, and he thought that he heard his mo. And lovest far too much this passing life. ther's voice calling him through the still evening; but WERNER. — My God hath made ine happy. Should again the soft silver-like voice rose up from the boson

I be of the placid waters, and be knew it to be the voice of A Christian, were I not to thank him for it? one of the three fairy sisters : Adieu, adieu, dear mo.

Augustin.—The joys, which sometimes here our God

allows, ther ! he cried, and, with a shout of mingled joy and

Are only trials, meant to win the heart, fear, flung himself headlong into the fathomless waters,

By slow degrees, to prudence and to patience. which closed around him for ever."

If I should wish to be in Heaven, when grief This work is printed in a small but very distinct type, Bows my sad spirit down, that is no virtue;and, altogether, forms two very handsome volumes, con- Who doth not wish himself estranged from sorrows ? taining matter sufficient for twice the bulk, according to

But first to taste of happiness like Job, the ordinary style of getting up.

We have been en

And then with patience to submit to fate; abled to peruse it previous to its publication, which

To lose the dearest and the costliest, will take place in a few days, and which will afford, un

And then to say, while tears stream from the eyes less we are mistaken, a very acceptable New-year's treat that, Werner, is a Christian's part.

“ God gave, and takes away, his name be praised;" to those who are fond of the choice little nick-nacks and

WERNER-(takes his hand with frankness) confections of fugitive literature.

But tell me
Openly, friend :- I too would speak a little
In thy own figures: is it good in thee

Foretelling sorrow like the midnight owl ?
The Shepherd Boy, a Dramatic Idyl. Translated from And asking, when thou see'st a cheerful flower,

the German of Adam Oehlenschlaeger. Edinburgh. “Why dost thou smell so sweet, and lift thy stem William Blackwood. 1828.

So tall and proud in the air of heaven? We are not sure that the intrinsic excellence of “ The Soon thou shalt fade away and turn to dust,” hepherd Boy” is such as to entitle it to the honour now

Say, Augustin, is this a Christian's part ?

AUGUSTIN.-Oh hear me, friend, nor thus misunderconferred upon it, by introducing it to the British pub. lic in an English dress, and as a separate work. It is Did all thy happiness rest on thy God, a pastoral poem containing some very pretty thoughts, And if thy house were founded on a rock, expressed in natural and simple language; but there is If thou wouldst quench thy thirst for joys of earth little that is very original or striking, either in the story In the true spring of life eternal—then as a whole, or in the individual passages. The plot is How gladly would I share thy happiness! extremely inartificial, except in one incident. Reinald, But when the false appearance of a moment, a traveller, arrives in a Swiss valley, where he meets; Darkens thine earthly eyes, can I rejoice?

Where danger and destruction ever lurk, and is captivated with Babli, a young shepherdess and an orphan. She introduces him to W'erner, a farmer, and we thank thee, and we prize thy friendship much :

WERNER.- Well, let it rest. - Thou visit'st us to-day; Charlotte, his wife, with whom she lives, and who have what though our views of life be different, an only child, a boy, called Fritz, some eight or ten years 'Tis natural; the winter oft is cold; old. In Charlotte, the farmer's wife, Reinald discovers The summer day is sometimes far too sultry. a sister whom he had long lost; and he and his new Come, strengthen thou thyself in my warm sunshine,

stand me;

tor.

Thy cold and holy moonlight shall inspire me,

the reader feels as if he had been entrapped into grief, Thus we shall yield a little to each other

ingeniously perhaps, but scarcely fairly. In such exchanges friendship doth consist.

As to the manner in which the translation is executed AUGUSTIN (gives the people a sign ; they bring in the by Mr Cowan, we consider it highly respectable; exhi. basket and depart).

biting at once good English composition, and a success. Now, thou dost feel and use thy happiness

ful transfusion of the spirit of the original. Here and Like to a man of strength; but, Werner, couldst thou

there, indeed, the language is prodigiously prosaic; but Beir sorrow with the self-same equal courage ? Werner. -Ay! time and care

this is more the fault of Oehlenschlaeger than his translaAUGUSTIN. Just as the bubble melts

The unpoetical familiarity of the following lines, In air, so passeth happiness away.

for example, is positively ludicrous :How if the time were come?

Our little son
WERNER,
Most pious father,

Hath climb'd the Alps, to pay to grandpapa
What bringest thou ?--A basket of fair fruit?

A little visit. We are not afraid, We thank thee!

But 'tis somewhat unpleasant, that to day ArGUSTIN. Yes, 'tis filled with fairest fruit.

They put up a new railing at the cleft; An hour ago it grew upon its stem

The old one is in ruins. As my husband In innocence; and now 'tis pluck'd for ever,

Goes the same way, I asked him even now
And ihe pale body like an angel siniles.

To hasten, and to bring my boy again."
WERNER.-Methinks it is a dismal view of life,
When e'en an apple seems to thee a corse.

But our longer quotation must be considered as a juster AUGUSTIN.-What is it then? Is it not broken too

specimen of the pervading tone of this poem, which From off the mother branch? WERNER.

is, in many instances, pleasing ; and, in some, even vi. Yes, to fulfil The end of nature.

gorous.
AUGUSTIN. And is not the heart,
When it grows stiff, like to a simple fruit
When plucked not to delight the mortal sense

General Synopsis of the Decisions of the Court of Ses. With its own sweetness—but itself to taste

sion. By N. P. Brown, Esq. Advocate. Edinburgh. The everlasting happiness of Heaven?

William Tait. WERNER.-Yes, this is striking and poetical!

AUGUSTIN (with increasing erpression.) And is the child, the fairest of all flowers,

We are just in time to give Mr Brown one friendly When suddenly it leaves its parent stem,

impulse ere he reaches the goal ; for eleven of his numNot to be likened to such noble fruit,

bers are already out, and the twelfth and last is expectJust torn away to sow in Paradise

ed in January. For the punctuality and rapidity with Its spotless kernel, where no worm shall gnaw

which the work has been brought forward, the legal Its bloom for ever?

public will not fail to assign Mr Brown due credit, haWERNER (in sudden anriety).

ving before their eyes a recent example, where a work God! what dost thou mean

was published in two parts,—and the whole price taken at By these similitudes? Thou frighten'st me.

delivery of the first number, on an engagement that the Augustin. Much to be pitied father! Who can comfort second should speedily follow it; but that second numThee, who, of earthly happiness secure, dreamst not

ber was kept back for several years afterwards. This Of care: It comes a sudden thunderbolt.

was very bad ; and had we been in the place of our How shall I confort thee? Thou lovest only This earthly life, without desire of Heaven!

manifold friend the public, we should have raised five WERNER (rushes forward, opens the basket, and erclaims hundred actions of repetition and damages. Mr Brown, in wild sorrow),

however, has felt the propriety of duly calculating, beOb God! my Fritz! Dead ! - Paiemand bruised and fore he pledged himself to the public, and of honour-cold.

ably redeeming his pledge. Without such punctuality, AUGUSTIN (with deep commiseration).

the very advantageous mode of publishing large works Madden, poor heart-ay, quit thee of thy wound; in numbers becomes positively pernicious. Beat thick, and, Nature, hold thy own. Moan forth

With regard to the utility of the work, there is and Wild lamentations from his lips. Give air

can be but one opinion. Our Scottish collections of De. To his pent breast, that so despair may not Strangle him dumbly.

cisions have been assuming a very respectable aspect. Flow, ye bitter tears, Flow and dry up your salt and burning springs.

Mr Brwn himself, by publishing ancient Decisions Weep, father, weep, because thy child is dead?

from manuscripts of Lords Hailes, Fountainhall, &c. But, Grief! when thou hast done thy uttermost,

&c., and from other sources, has contributed seven come. Despair! when thou hast raged out thy worst

ly quartos to the general stock; and we believe it is no Oh! come then, Comfort from the grace of God, exaggeration to say, that Scotland can now boast of half Appearing like the moon in mourning clouds;

a cubic yard, or about fifteen cubic feet, of reported Oh! dissipate the darkness with thy silver,

cases. This was, and is, a very gratifying consideration And let the father see his Fritz again,

for the country at large ; but quite otherwise for the Alive and bless d among the choir of angels.

lawyers. Fifteen cubic feet of reading-light and pleaP. 50_7.

sant as it was-palled upon the appetite. Not only was

the systematic study of Decisions become a matter of The mother, the new-found uncle Reinald, and the fos- appalling difficulty, but the very searching for precedents ter-sister Babl', all come in soon aftırwards, and join in in any actual case was a great, and often a very unsatisthe father's grief. After all this, the reader is not a lit- factory labour. It was seeking a needle in a hay-stack. tle surprised to discover that Fritz is not dead! The dead Partial indices there were, no doubt ; but they were parchild turns out to have been a brother of Fritz's grand-tial, and consequently numerous, and thus produced the father, who had fallen into the cleft when a boy, many very difficulty they were intended to avoid. They were fears before ; and the body having been saturated with constructed, too, on such aifficult principles, that an acmountain salt, had thus been preserved from all appear. quaintance with one gave no key to the arrangement of ance of decay! The dead child had, moreover, so strong the other. a family likeness, that, when the body was found, it de- Such was the mass to which Mr Brown applied him. ceived not only Augustin the hermit, but even the fa- self, with the view of educing order and harmony from ther and motier, who believed it to be their own son ! discord and confusion ; of marshalling into proper troops This is, surely, a strange outrage on probability; and the scattered bands of Decisions ; of making a clew to

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the labyrinth, where many a young counsel had lost his Among the number of valuable Tables, we notice four patience and his fees. Great expectations were excited in extensive Zoological Synopses, drawn up expressly for the profession, to which Mr Brown's assiduity was known, the present work, by Desmoulins; also two Tables from his collections of Decisions, and from the skill and from the celebrated work of the Wenzels, showing the learning displayed in his Treatise on Sale; and although absolute and relative size and weight of the human brain time alone can settle the public opinion on a work of at different periods of life, and the progress of the cere. this description, yet, so far as can yet be seen, the ex. bral developement in different animals. We perceive pectations of the profession will not be disappointed. also that Dr Milligan lias presented us with a new view The arrangement is lucid and accessible, and the ab. of the relation of the external to the internal table of the stracts of the Decisions are at once logical, perspicuous, skull; and as the subject appears to us important, we and concise. We have heard professional men speak shall probably take an early opportunity of laying it bewith thankfulness of the labour and anxiety which this fore our readers in a popular shape. In the meantime, Synopsis has already saved them as the desired cases we may conclude the present brief notice by observing, are classified in such a scientific manner as to be found als that this translation of Majenoie's deservedly popular most at a glance, and as Mr Brown's abstract, in general, work should be in the hands of every person, who takes answers every requisite purpose ; and if farther informa- any delight in the interesting science of Physiology. tion be desired, the page and volume of the original report are indicated, so as to ensure immediate reference.

In conclusion, we beg to suggest to Mr Brown the propriety of subjoining an Index of the titles under The Christian's Pattern ; or Pious Reflections for every which he has arranged the cases, which should also in- day in the Month. Collected cbiefly from Thomas à clude some of the titles used in other indices, and point Kempis ; with Additions, by Edward Upham. Lonout where the subject is to be found in his own arrange

don. Hurst, Chance, and Co. 1829.

EVERY body, we suppose, has heard of Thomas å Kempis, yet we suspect a g od number of people have

a very vague notion who or what he was. He was a faAn Elementary Compendium of Physiology. By F.

mous theologian, born in those times when theology was Majendie, M.D. Translated from the French. With all in all, in the year 1380, at Kempen, a small village Copious Notes, Tables, and Illustrations, by E. Mil

near Cologne. He devoted his whole lite to the study of ligan, M.D. Third Edition. Edinburgh. John

divinity, and did not die till he had reached his ninetyCarfrae. 1829.

second year. Besides transcribing many books of de

votion, which was then considered a work of great meThe name of Majendie ranks so high in the history rit, he left behind him a vast number of original serof Physiological Science, and his investigations and experiments have been so ably and successfully conducted, logne in the year 1600, in three volumes folio. One of

mons and pious treatises, which were published at Cothat any production from his pen will always come be- his treatises, “ De Imitatione Christi,” has been so fore the public, with a strong claim to attention. His much admired by the devout, that it has been translated detached essays, giving an account of his researches, are into almost all languages. He lived a solitary, but in. exceedingly numerous, but they are scattered through nocent life; and it has been well remarked of him, various French periodicals, and frequently inaccessible that " silence was his friend, labour his companion, and to the English student. Accordingly, his " Compen prayer his auxiliary.” A saying of his has been recorded dium of Physiology,” which concentrates, in a single which strongly illustrates the character of the man. It volume, the most important of these researches, must is this :-" I have sought for rest everywhere, but I prove a very useful and valuable work.

We know it have found it nowhere, except in a little corner with a has long been pronounced one of the best elementary little book.” The epitaph on the stone which covers his books on this subject that has yet appeared in any remains, and which consists only of two lines, in the form country; and not only as a text-book to the student, of a question and answer, brings out the same idea:but as a work of general reference, it will always maintain a high character in the literature of medicine. Dr “ Oh! where is peace, for thou its paths hast trod ? Milligan, the author of a valuable edition of Celsus, has, In poverty, retirement, and with God." we therefore think, conferred a very great benefit on the This is nearly all that is known of Thomas à KemBritish student, by presenting him with the present pis. His works, though now-a-days no one ever thinks translation ; the value of which is materially enhanced, of looking into them, contain many excellent things, by the number of notes and tables which the translator and Mr Upham, the judicious editor and translator of has himself added, including the opinions of other emi. the small book now before us, not choosing that the nent physiologists, and an account of the most recent Christian world should lose sight entirely of a divine discoveries in physiology. The business of a translator who once ranked so high, has given us, in The Christian's is generally of a dull, plodding, and mechanical charac- Pattern,” a selection of some of his original's best pieces.

He endeavours laboriously to follow closely the And saying to himself, like the Frenchman,—“ A prefootsteps of the original author, and does not himself sent, qui lise des tomes en folio ?” he has compressed aspire to throw a single additional ray of light on the his ós Pious Reflections" into as neat and little a 24mo subject by which he may be surrounded. Dr Milligan, as one could wish to carry in his waistcoat pocket. The however, has assumed a higher ground ; since, in addi- “ Meditations,” which are for every day in the month, tion to discharging his duties as a translator, he has will be read with profit-by all those who know the vaalso added, in an appendix, a number of original mis- lue of the Psalmist's advice to “ Commune with your cellaneous articles, which are as worthy of our attention own heart in your chamber, and be still." as is any part of the work of Majendie itself. Among the number of these, we notice discussions on the T'is. sues of Bichat, with tables; on Bichat's Doctrine of the Double Life ; on the Theories of Vibration, Respira. Tales and Confessions. By Leitch Ritchie. London. tion, Absorption, &c.; also an account of the most re- Smith, Elder, and Co. 1829. 8vo. Pp. 364. cent discoveries in the Nervous System, including the labours of Flourens, Bell, Edwards, Dumas, and Pre- Had we been able to notice this book a week or two vost ; Rolando, Desmoulins, Fodera, Mayo, and the sooner, we should have spoken of it at greater length. most distinguished French and English physiologists. We have read it through with considerable pleasure, and

ter.

the impression it leaves upon us is, that Mr Ritchie is a “ You may save yourself the terror of such a conjuncclever man, though not possessed of much original ge- tion,” said she. “ You shall never take me to your bonius. There is a good deal of interest in most of the som. I hope in God we shall never again sleep under stories, with here and there passages of more than ordi- the same roof." nary power. We wish well to all literary men; and we “ Just as you please, madam. Make the most of think Mr Ritchie peculiarly entitled to encouragement, your pride and insulence that you can. In the meansince, in conjunction with his friends, Messrs Richard. time, you will please to remember that this is my house;" son and St John, he has given us one of the best week- and so saying, I strode majestically into my own room. ly periodicals of which the metropolis can boast_" The The horrors of that night will remain engraven on my London Weekly Review."

distracted memory for ever! I overheard her hushing our beloved baby to sleep, with many sobs and tears,

and still I had not the power to return and Aling myself MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE,

at her feet. I found that in my heart she was forgiven already ; but, wondering who could have poisoned her ear, I resolved to let her feel my resentment for such ungrounded suspicions for a little while.

As I was hugTHE WANDERER'S TALE.

ging myself on the propriety of this demeanour, I heard By the Ettrick Shepherd.

a carriage stop at the street door ; but, it being a place “ Cross'd in life-by villains plunder'd,

where carriages were constantly stopping, I paid po atMore than yet you've given beliel" ;

tention to it. Our door-bell was never rung; and though Fortune's bolts have o'er me thunder'd,

I heard some bustling on the stair, I regarded not that Till my very heart is deal."

either. The carriage drove off, and all was quiet. At I TOLD you that I had loved,—and heaven is my length, being unable to contain myself longer, I rung witness how dearly and how sincerely! Yes! I saw the bell, and asked the girl for Clara. my Clara,,I wooed and won her from a feared and hated “ My lady is gone out, sir.” rival, just when he thought he had nothing to do but to “ Out! Whither is she gone at this time of night ?" lead her to the altar. From that day he took every op- “ She is gone out, sir. She went away in that carportunity of picking a quarrel with me; but I bore all riage." triumphantly, proud of the prize of which I had berea- . And the child? What, then, has become of the ved him.

child ?" He was a Major-General at this time; and, not long “ He is gone out too, sir. My lady has taken him after my marriage, my embarrassments induced me to along with her.” accept an appointment in the arıy; and it so fell out, " When is she to be in again ?” that in about three years afterwards, this same rival be- “ I could not be saying, sir. But I suppose she is came my commanding officer. This was a humility not going to make some stay away ; for when she went she to be bome, and I had already taken measures to get kissed me, gave me a guinea, and, squeezing my hand, she rid of is, which, however, could not be brought to bear said, "Farewell, Nancy, and I felt the tears dripping off for soine time ; and, in the meanwhile, I fear my temper at her chin,-'farewell, Nancy,' said she ; . God be with had grown surly and severe with my charming wife, for you !' and poor, dear lady, she was crying. What could I had been chagrined by many losses and crosses of late. ail her, your honour ? I cannot comprehend it, for inSo one night when I came home to my lodging, afrer a deed she was crying." Week's absence on duty, I kissed my little boy, and, as Every word that the girl spoke went like a dagger to usual, was going to kiss his mother, but behold! I was my heart, and I felt that my fate was sealed, and that repulsed with indignation and scorn ; and before I got misery, desolation, and utter oblivion, only awaited me. time to articulate a word in my astonishment, I was ad- I was mad already; for I seized my hat, ran down stairs, dressed in the following unbrookable terms :

and, without ever asking which way the carriage went, “Go and bestow your kisses on those who have en pursued, running till at the farther end of the town, and joyed them for these eight days past,—nay, for these then along another street, till quite exhausted. Twice eight months and more. I have suffered your irregulari- was I taken up by the police ere morning, while running ties and insults long; but I will suffer them no longer." and calling her name, like a child that had lost its mo

In utter consternation, I asked an eclaircissement, I ther. believe good-naturedly, or nearly so, when the woman of Had I been capable of any proper exertion at all ademy heart and soul, -the woman on whose face I had ne. quate to my love and regret, I might still have recoverver seen a frown,-accused me broadly of infidelity to her, ed my beloved Clara ; but I was petrified, benumbed, and of seducing the wife of another, --a crime of which overwhelmed with astonishment, and I knew of no place I had kept her in concealment for the best part of a year. to which she could retreat whither to follow her; so I And she added,

took to my bed, and abandoned myself to despair. I “ I knew of it long ago, and would fain have passed was called on to attend parade, and, being obliged to it over in silence ; but now, it is become so public that comply, I found the General more than usually insulting decency is outraged, and I desire you to return to her, that day; but I bore all with unmoved apathy, caring and leave me as I am, with my poor child here." neither for him nor aught in this world. As I refused

Here I fell into the greatest error of my life. I got going to mess, one of my companions, who sympathised into an ungovernable rage, and there is no doubt that I with me, accompanied me home, and by the way said to used my beloved wife very badly. The crime of which me," I am truly sorry for you, Archibald ; but I fear I was accused was entirely without foundation. I had you have been the author of this flagrant and disgracenever so much as in thought been for a moment alien- ful business yourself; and now it is irremediable." ated from Clara, and the accusal put me actually beside I asked him to what he alluded, every joint in my myself; and perhaps my misfortunes had rendered my body in the meanwhile trembling like an aspen; when mind rather unstable by this time.

he told me shortly, as a fact known to the whole mess, You are a poor, weak-minded miserable woman, to that my wife was now living under the General's probelieve any such report of me,” said I ; " and if you tection. This was a blow indeed! Could any man's Were a thousand times dearer than you are, I would tear reason have stood this shock : Could yours, sir? I deyou from my heart and affections ; for how could I tak ny it, if you had any spark of the feelings of a man. I a being to my bosom who entertains such a mean opi- instantly penned a challenge,-a terrible one ; but my nion of me?"

companion refused to carry it to his commanding officer,

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